


Morning

by peacehopeandrats



Series: Monthly Rumbelling 2021 [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling January 2021 (Once Upon A Time), F/M, Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacehopeandrats/pseuds/peacehopeandrats
Summary: Weaver wakes up after a bad night at Roni's only to find someone in his bed who shouldn't be there.A short ficlet based off of January's Monthly Rumbelling moodboard.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Lacey/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Lacey/Rumplestiltskin | Weaver
Series: Monthly Rumbelling 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088708
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by the Monthly Rumbelling for January 2021, the text prompt of morning sex. You can find it [here](https://a-monthly-rumbelling.tumblr.com/post/639113404836085761/prompts-for-january). This month I also prompted myself with the theme of light.
> 
> This is one fic in a series dedicated only to Monthly Rumbelling stories from all over the franchise. Eventually the purpose of this collection will all make sense, but for now, please enjoy the random storytelling.

Weaver woke to a pounding headache and immediately dropped his arm over his eyes to block out the light that felt like a set of knives attacking his brain. For a brief moment he wanted to think back on the night before, try and work out what happened between his shift at the station and his departure from Roni's, but then the part of him that was Rumplestiltskin rose up against the idea, cringing at the thought of being no better than his drunken father. Obviously the evening had included an open bar tab, better to leave the questions unanswered or to not even ask them in the first place. At the worst he’d probably been evicted by Roni or one of her employees for drunk and disorderly conduct and that was enough of a blow without adding to it. 

He moaned at the ease with which he fell into using the cop’s vernacular. The title of protector might have suited Emma, but it had no place on his identification card, not in this cursed place or any other. It was an unexpected side effect of the curse, he supposed, taking Saviors and dumping them into the role, an outcome he would have happily done without. He couldn't even do it properly. Weaver was corrupt, and a willing pawn in other people's power plays. He treated fellow officers like they were beneath him and his partners as if they were garbage. This curse wasn't putting a Savior where he belonged, it was reminding a monster that he needed to stay in his cage.

A tear welled up in his eyes and he shifted the weight of his arm to rub it away. Belle would hate him here, like this. Oh, she would encourage him to see the good in himself, but he knew what he truly was. Hyperion Heights was designed to show off everyone's true colors and his were darker than anyone’s. There would be no finding Belle again from here, no way to redeem himself, retract his many misdeeds, and find a better path, not as Weaver.

A small moan at his side broke into his thoughts, making Rumple's breath still in his chest. The sound was familiar and yet strange, a languid, guttural expression of utter contentment and it was followed soon after by the heat of another body pressing to his. Flesh-on-flesh contact in a room that _should_ have been empty forced Weaver to reevaluate his situation. Taking stock of his senses, he breathed in the air, tuned his ears to the sounds coming from the other side of the window, and paid close attention to how his body settled in the mattress below him. The place smelled like his apartment and the bed was familiar enough, so he wasn’t in a hotel or someone else's bedroom. That was a comfort, but his nudity was more than unsettling, as was his companion's accompanying state of undress. The whole combination was a recipe for terror and the emotion shook him to the very core.

Weaver’s first thought was of Rogers, which both made sense and worried him in turns. He could see himself being so drunk that he'd need an escort home, and could imagine Rogers offering to see him to his room, but did _not_ have it in him to take that final step to _this_ situation with his partner, no matter how friendly he'd become with the pirate. There was not enough alcohol in all the realms combined to grant either of them that ability. No, the idea of Rogers was clearly the result of a hangover and lack of proper sleep, nothing more.

Trying not to move against the form at his side for fear he might disturb them into wakefulness, Weaver carefully tried to imagine the shape of the body that pressed against him based on what tactile information he already had. With his initial panic shoved back down to normal levels it was easy to recognize it as most certainly feminine. There were curves in all the right places and the skin was softer than he imagined a man’s might be. So not Rogers then, but who? He had cursed memories of evenings spent with Roni, but Rumple knew how to sort the false history from the truth and he _knew_ the two of them hadn't shared a bed. Drunken flirting had been the worst of their transgressions, at least until now.

 _Not Regina,_ Rumple wailed in his mind. _How could I have done that to Belle?_ He'd take the pirate over any of Regina’s cursed personalities any day. Belle didn’t deserve having to live through that humiliation again, even if she wasn’t physically here to see it.

“You’re up early,” a hoarse, throaty voice teased as a hand ran over his morning erection. The sound alone sent waves of relief and pleasure through Rumple’s body, but the touch, now just as familiar as that beautiful accent, brought him out of reality with a jolt.

“Belle?” Rumple turned immediately, unceremoniously extracting himself from the heat of her body so that he could prop up on his side and stare down at the mess of curls and old makeup that most certainly _wasn’t_ his wife.

The woman beside him sighed and raised her hand to indicate some unseen object or place, then dropped it down to her hip as she spoke. “You know, _everyone_ calls me that? Gold used to insist I was this Belle that he’d fallen madly in love with, then I dated this guy named Spinner for a while, back in Las Vegas, and _he_ called me Belle a few times too. Now I’m in Seattle, bedding a tough as nails cop who’s doing the same thing. A girl could get a complex, you know.”

In Rumple’s life he had only come across one person with this exact mixture of brazen truthfulness and cocky attitude. “Lacey.” Her name was a whisper on his tongue, an old, familiar flavor that he longed to taste again. He stared into her crystalline blue eyes until he found the soft glow of Belle beneath and felt his body slowly relax back against hers. “Belle… you can’t be here.”

“Lacey,” Belle corrected as her cursed persona, expression softening just enough to let him know that she was in there, but deciding to play a part. She was younger than when he’d last seen her, full of the life that hung in front of her, waiting to be grasped. “ _She’s_ the one you need right now, _Detective_ Weaver.” A wink followed, an action that hovered on the border between the two loves of his life who had always only been a single individual. “Take her while you can.” 

This was his wife’s way of giving unspoken consent, the way she told him she knew what she was getting herself into and was willing to continue through their little game into whatever fantasy they thought they should play out. She’d used it several times before, the first of which was when they had rekindled the Lacey persona during their stay in Las Vegas. After the fun they’d had there, they agreed to use Lacey again, when either of them were feeling the urge to return to their younger days. Lacey was the part of Belle that was sexually fearless. She pushed boundaries and urged their love making into situations that were wildly stimulating, giving the ravenous part of him an outlet that he’d always refused to unleash on Belle, even when she’d asked for it.

But she still shouldn’t be here.

Extracting herself from the bed, Lacey bent down to pick up Weaver’s discarded button up and slipped it on. The thing barely reached to cover her, revealing rounded muscle that he wanted to reach out and cup in his hands, flesh that he needed to caress and guide back to the bed to settle over his growing need. As she walked the cloth shifted, rising just above the point where her legs ended and her backside began, teasing him with glimpses, but never a full reveal.

“Belle,” he moaned, then thought to correct himself. “Lacey. Come back to bed.”

When she turned to face him, Weaver’s cock twitched. None of his shirt’s buttons were fastened, leaving the cloth to drape sensually over Lacey’s breasts, partially concealing them from view while simultaneously revealing her lower body to his full gaze. “Who says we should stay in bed? Plenty of places we can go in this apartment,” Lacey crooned as she raised a hand to toy with the door’s frame. Her eyes shifted back to Belle’s for a moment as they followed something through the air, then regained their lusty stare. “No way to know how much time we have.”

Rumple had been so lost in Lacy’s presence that he hadn’t even noticed the tiny motes floating around them. The dream realm, then. This was truly Belle, his Belle, come back to him. If that was the case, he would play along happily and if it wasn’t what harm could it do? Could he honestly feel bad about dreaming of his wife’s soft skin, perfect curves, and beautiful blue eyes? How could it be wrong to grant himself the opportunity to feel her heat surround him or hear her beautifully accented voice call out his name?

“I’ll make you some breakfast.” The words came out in a rush as he all but sprang from the bed, but Lacey stretched lazily in the doorway to block his exit.

“I went to bed with a guy named Weaver. You know, that tough as nails cop I was telling you about? That’s the man I’m spending the morning with. Lacey…” She pointed a finger at her own chest, then trailed it down over one breast in a lazy motion that dipped between her legs. “And Weaver…” Her hand emerged moist and cupped him, then trailed a line up the underside of his cock, lifting it gently until she ran out of room and released it to stand on its own. The tip of her finger continued upward, circling his own nipple and toying with it as her greedy eyes watched it respond. When she was finished she turned away and glanced over her shoulder coyly. “Just the two of them them here today. No one else.”

She left him then, standing dumbfounded in the bedroom, slipping beyond his sight to pad her way down the hall. Rumple looked around the space that was Weaver’s home, taking in the essence of the man he so hated that he’d become. He wanted her, either as Belle or Lacey he didn’t care, and if Weaver was the only one getting any action, Weaver is who he would be. The detective was actually a lot like Spinner, the character Rumple _thought_ he’d been making up so many years ago. If Belle was willing to have that harsher man, the one who took what he wanted and refused to let go, he was going to give him to her.

“I’m going to shower the stench of that bar off of me,” Weaver called out before leaving the bedroom. He made no effort to cover himself, simply stood in the hallway in all his aroused glory and shot a lustful gaze down the corridor to where Lacey was sauntering into the kitchen. “Five minutes. If you can wait for me that long.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready for you,” she purred back as she opened a cabinet and made a show of standing on tiptoe to reach something on one of the higher shelves, forcing the shirt to ride up. Her legs were slightly parted, tempting Weaver with the memory of being submerged between them. It wasn’t a stance taken for balance and he knew it.

Growling in a mix of approval and frustration, Weaver almost bolted for the bathroom. He didn’t bother to close the door, simply relieved himself, then started the shower and stepped in once it was warm enough. The frosted glass door of the walk in would give Lacey a tantalizing view if she chose to sneak by and he’d be able to catch her watching when she did. Weaver closed his eyes as the water flowed over him, remembering some of the showers they had taken together. It had been so long, too long, since he’d been inside of Belle and the part of him that was Rumple gave some thought to taking himself in hand now so that he could spend his need and then allow her to build up his desire once more. Weaver, of course, knew that wasn’t what Lacey wanted. She had torture in mind, sweet and plentiful. He wanted it too, needed to be brought to the edge and left there until he went mad from lack of release.

Weaver adjusted the temperature to cool himself down and washed with renewed urgency. He could hear the clank and clatter of dishes in the kitchen, smell the thick aroma of coffee being made, and then, just as he was washing the suds from his skin, caught sight of a flesh-covered sliver of a shape leaning against the wall just outside the open bathroom door. It writhed and wriggled like a snake and Weaver realized that Lacey was building her own pleasure. He chuckled as he watched, letting her know that he’d caught her in the act, but the movement continued.

“Enjoying the show?” he called out over the downpour from the shower head. “How about some narration to go with it?”

Lacey giggled in the distance. “Well you can’t exactly describe what you’re wearing…”

“No,” Weaver admitted. “But I can tell you that I’ve covered my body in a thick lather of soap and I’m running my slick palms over my chest right now… Lowering them to my stomach, washing every bubble from my flesh. You know what a shower’s like. Hot streams of fluid traveling in rivers that start at my shoulders and run down, trickle over my body, and pour off of me when they get low enough. I’m hard for you, Lacey. So hard that the water runs off of me like a fountain. How thirsty are you for a drink? If I turn the water off would you be licking the water drops from me with that delicate tongue?”

An answering moan came from the hallway and Weaver smiled. “Come out of there and I’ll make you wetter than that shower could,” Lacey offered. “I’ll slide myself over you and cover you with _my_ wet body. I’m going to start at the tip and work my way down until you _beg_ to be taken all at once.”

He was ready to beg now, but refused to tell her. Instead he shut off the water and opened the shower door just enough to grab his towel and pull it in. Lacey protested with a grunt and a huff, which only made him chuckle as he wrapped the white cloth over his hips and tied it in place before emerging into the room for her scrutiny.

“Not fair,”she pouted though her eyes immediately fell to the bulge under the towel and she licked her lips. Putting on her “two can play at this game” expression, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned away from him, making one fluid movement that left her peering at him from over her shoulder. “Coffee’s in the kitchen.” She left him and he stalked after her, wanting to catch her up and pin her somewhere, anywhere so that he could fill her completely.

Lacey reached the kitchen first and snatched up a mug that was already filled with a dark, steaming liquid, then spun around to shoot him a wicked grin. “Didn’t know how you liked it, so I thought I’d let you make your own,” she told him while blocking his access to the things he needed to do just that.

Weaver narrowed his eyes on his target and strode purposefully forward. Ahead of him, Lacey shifted back until her body bumped into the counter, making her eyes widen with surprise. She recovered quickly, keeping the mug up near her face as if in preparation to take a sip, but the glint in her eyes told him the mug and its contents were nothing but a prop. Lacey had positioned herself perfectly in front of the coffee pot so that Weaver would have to step close and he planned to use that to his advantage.

“It seems there’s someone in the way of my morning beverage,” he rumbled, eyes drifting to follow the path of flesh that was revealed between the still open sides of his shirt. He wanted the sweetness of her folds, the hot moisture of passion that she’d promised to coat him with, but he wasn’t going to take any of it just yet. Lacey was going to get her own pleasure first, in the form of wicked torments.

Setting the cup carefully at a distance just at the edge of her arm’s reach, Lacey grinned at him and leaned further back against the cold marble surface. Her arms spread out behind her, forming braces against the counter while opening her body to his gaze. The shirt parted easily to reveal hard nipples centered in creamy breasts that simply begged to be kissed and Weaver ran his tongue over his lower lip just to see her writhe with the anticipation of it. He lowered his eyes with purpose, devouring her sweet center that was now so moist with want that he could see a it glistening in the kitchen’s harsh light.

 _To hell with this._ Unable to resist any longer, Weaver pressed forward in one, swift motion that brought his body against Lacey’s splayed form. Using a knee to nudge her legs even further apart, he then scooped her round backside into his hands and lifted her. It was only a matter of inches to raise her body before he could lower her onto the frigid stone surface of the counter and he gave her no time to prepare herself. He wanted the sharp contrast of his heat replaced with the chill of the polished marble. He wanted to feel that same contrast as he slid inside of her, hard cock catching the smooth, cold edge even as it pressed into her heat, but the bundle of towel blocked his way.

Lacey yelped at the sudden chill on her skin, back arching as much as the cabinets would allow. Her hips immediately shifted forward, seeking him out. She was at the perfect height, he realized, expecting that to be a result of the dream. One thrust and he could fill her completely, yet he waited a moment longer, letting her grind against the folds of his towel as she arranged her body into a comfortable position. With one foot, Lacey somehow managed to flip open one of the lower cabinet doors and suddenly Weaver felt her hips open wider as her leg raised beside him.

“Leverage,” she crooned, leaning forward to nip at his ear while her hands parted the towel to expose him to her touch. Her fingers were perfect elements of torture, barely grazing against his skin, circling his balls and teasing wherever they could reach.

“Sure you want to do that?” Weaver didn’t pull away, but refused to allow her to draw him closer. Placing his hands on her thighs, he ran his palms up until his thumbs reached her curls and could explore her folds. The caress urged her to open even more for him, exposing her to his senses. She was dripping with her need and the scent of that desire filled the space between them. 

Putting his lips to her ear, he nipped at the lobe before delivering a warning in a harsh, husky whisper. “You see, I know a thing or two about torture and confessions. I know how to make _this_ confession take all day. You’ll be screaming for release when I’m done with you.”

Lacey pulled her head away and gave Weaver a sideways glance that poured her lustful passions straight to the center of his own desire. “You think _I_ need to confess something?”

“I think,” Weaver rasped into her neck, speaking through a series of kisses. “That you want the worst parts of me. I think the dark, uncontrollable urges turn you on, make you wet.” His thumb brushed against her again and she gasped, but he pulled the touch away before she could properly enjoy it. “I think the idea of me taking you right here, on this cold, hard counter, has been in your mind all morning. I think you set me up.” 

He ghosted his hands and lips over her as he spoke, tempting her with contact only to refuse it a breath later. Lacy wriggled against him, chasing the touches, whimpering when she couldn't catch them. Her tortured body was delicious, a delicacy for him to devour, and he ate up every inch of it with every part of himself until the woman beneath him finally broke.

“Weaver!” Lacy cried out into the room. “I need you. Please.”

The detective chuckled, letting his body move closer, but making certain to press his hard length against the cold surface rather than let it come near her warm flesh. “Is that a confession?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, breasts heaving as she twisted in place, determined to force him to make contact with her. “I wanted it all, I made you follow me in here, and I want to make you come here.”

“Right here?” Weaver purred as he lifted his hips just enough to tease her entrance. Lacey’s head bobbed, her lip tucked too tightly between her teeth for her to speak, so he started to pull away.

“Yes!” Lacy yelped. “I want you all the way inside me. Right here. Right now.”

He couldn’t make her wait any more. Consumed by his own passions, and already aware of how ready she was for him, Weaver entered her in one, swift thrust. Lacy cried out in pleasure, hips shifting to bring them together as deeply as possible. He could feel her braced leg wobble where the shifting of their weight moved the door that it rested on, but allowed only a moment for her to settle before he began to work his body against hers. 

Taking full control, he grasped her rear and pulled her forward, closer to the edge and further down his shaft. She covered him to the very base, her muscled curves caressing his balls and sending his head spinning into ravenous need. All thoughts of tormenting her flew from his mind now that he was completely surrounded in her heat, drenched in her need, and as he’d hoped, the chill of the marble against his skin was a heavenly contrast of sensations, pushing him beyond all thought. He ached for release and began thrusting in short, swift movements, pounding against Lacey like a rutting animal. 

She keened her pleasures, urging him on, body undulating to meet his every movement, and for a moment all that Rumple knew was Weaver, his passions and desperation, his anger and its release, but then something flipped inside of his mind. With no warning he felt he was outside of himself, looking down at a man who was only using the woman in front of him. He saw Belle and the way he was grinding into her, uncaring, ignoring all but his own release, and he froze.

An instant later fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling his head forward, forcing his gaze to land on her icy pools of desire. “So this guy I dated once… threw a newspaper box all the way across the road. It was _so_ hot.” Lacey’s voice was husky with yearning, her body pushed against him, continuing the rhythm he’d forgotten, even as she spoke. “Sometimes a girl just wants to _be_ that thing, you know? Let her man just release it inside of her, feel it pour through her body…” 

Belle had always been able to read him and she was reading him now. “There’s trust in that, too,” she promised as Lacey, adjusting her position so that he was as deep within her as he could possibly go. “Letting a guy _take_ you just because he needs to let it all out.”

The part of him that was Weaver leaned in and growled against her neck. “Oh, I’m going to let it all out. Right inside of you.” Worries forgotten, he returned to his desperate thrusts, their bodies slapping together with pure, instinctual need. Lacey urged him on, calling out his name and begging for more until her legs were suddenly wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his rear and somehow pulling him deeper still, consuming his length with her pulsing core. Wave after wave of sensation massaged his hard shaft until Weaver’s body tensed, then released its own throbbing pleasure, spilling out into Lacey so that her body could drink up every drop that he had to give her.

Spent, Lacy fell forward against him, her skin touching his for the first time since he’d found her in his bed. “Right. That. Was amazing,” she breathed, her words coming out in short gasps.

“And we’re gonna do it again,” Weaver told her as he reached up to pull his shirt from her shoulders, exposing her entire body for his lustful gaze. His cock slipped from her and he allowed himself to take half a step back and admire the view. 

Unashamed of her appearance, Lacy trailed her fingers over one breast, down her belly, and along her mound to play in the milky white evidence of their joined passions. “You sure you’re up for that?” She teased him with her words the way her fingers teased at her own pleasure point. “I can… Provide some distraction until you’re ready.”

Yanking on the knotted towel he wore, Weaver pulled it loose so that it fell from his hips, pooling at his feet. “It’s a dream,” he hissed as he exposed his already hardening length. “I’m going to take you over and over until you beg to go somewhere else.”

Lacey hummed in contentment and stretched her legs out to catch him, pulling him forward with her heels. “And where would we go?”

“I’ve heard stories about what you and that guy Spinner got up to. I’m gonna take you to Roni’s. Test you. See what you’re willing to do with all those people around.” Weaver pressed himself closer, shivering with delight as his cock slid along the marble to find her wet and ready for him. “I want _everyone_ in that bar to know you’re _mine_.”

For a moment there was a flash of Belle in Lacy’s eyes, a blink of sadness and understanding. Had she known that Regina had used her name as a test to see if he was awake? Did she know that to keep himself hidden he’d had to deny her existence, had to pretend her name meant nothing to him, that it wasn’t the light that beat steadily in his heart? Rumple wanted to tell her all of that and so much more. He wanted to beg for forgiveness for even the things he hadn’t been responsible for. He deserved to be the one splayed out before her, tortured to the brink of destruction, but before he could even blink Belle was gone again, buried just as deeply inside Lacey as he had been only moments before.

“Let’s do it,” Lacey crooned, trailing her fingers down his chest to leave gooseflesh in their wake. “Take me down there and show them just how perfect Lacey fits around Detective Weaver’s big, hard… life.”

Weaver shivered thinking about all of the mischievous acts Lacey might have planned. Dream or no dream, he couldn’t wait to see the look on Roni’s face when she caught them grinding away at each other. After all, Lacey hadn’t really talking about his “life” when she’d made her suggestion, and they both knew it.


End file.
